Poetry: Cheryl Marie Wade
I Am Not One Of The
by Cheryl Marie Wade
I am not one of the physically challenged-
I'm a sock in the eye with gnarled fist
I'm a French kiss with cleft tongue
I'm orthopedic shoes sewn on a last of your fears
I am not one of the differently abled-
I'm an epitaph for a million imperfect babies left untreated
I'm an ikon carved from bones in a mass grave at Tiergarten, Germany
I'm withered legs hidden with a blanket
I am not one of the able disabled-
I'm a black panther with green eyes and scars like a picket fence
I'm pink lace panties teasing a stub of milk white thigh
I'm the Evil Eye
I'm the first cell divided
I'm mud that talks
I'm Eve I'm Kali
I'm The Mountain That Never Moves
I've been forever I'll be here forever
I'm the Gimp
I'm the Cripple
I'm the Crazy Lady
I'm The Woman With Juice
5 comments:
Beautifully written!
Very nice, thank you for sharing.
Fantastic! I'm the mother of the first cell divided; and I'll be here forever and ever, too.
I'm trying to find Cheryl Wade's poem "Not A Reason to Die." Can you point me in the right direction?
marquest@earthlink.net
Marcy:
I think it's this one called "Cripple Lullaby":
CRIPPLE LULLABY
I’m trickster coyote in a gnarly-bone suit
I’m a fate worse than death in shit-kickin’boots
I’m the nightmare booga you flirt with in dreams
‘Cause I emphatically demonstrate: It ain’t what it seems
I’m a whisper, I’m a heartbeat, I’m "that accident," and goodbye
One thing I am not is a reason to die.
I’m homeless in the driveway of your manicured street
I’m Evening Magazine’s SuperCrip of the Week
I’m the girl in the doorway with no illusions to spare
I’m a kid dosed on chemo, so who said life is fair
I’m a whisper, I’m a heartbeat, I’m "let’s call it suicide," and a sigh
One thing I am not is a reason to die
I’m the poster child with doom-dipped eyes
I’m the ancient remnant set adrift on ice
I’m that Valley girl, you know, dying of thin
I’m all that is left of the Cheshire Cat’s grin
I’m the Wheelchair Athlete, I’m every dead Baby Doe
I’m the Earth’s last volcano, and I am ready to blow
I’m a whisper, I’m a heartbeat, I’m a genocide survivor, and Why?
OnE thing I am not is a reason to die.
I am not a reason to die.
– Cheryl Marie Wade
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